


What's Your Flavor (Tell Me What's Your Flavor?)

by beetle



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Afterglow, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Choking, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, Flavored Lube, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, No electrolytes, Post-Game(s), Rimming, Rough Sex, S&M, Shameless Smut, Strawberries, no redeeming value
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 14:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11164122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: So, I’ll just paste the prompt and let you guys make of that what you will.Prompt: “Scott/Reyes” and “How do you get your ass to taste like strawberry?”





	What's Your Flavor (Tell Me What's Your Flavor?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghostofshe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofshe/gifts), [stitchcasual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchcasual/gifts), [hotot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotot/gifts), [Cavaticarose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cavaticarose/gifts).



> Notes/Warnings: Eh. Rimming, forced orgasms, rough sex. Maybe vague spoilers? Set post-game.

It wasn’t that often Reyes was in such a . . . _receptive_ mood.

 

(Read: Naked, cock-hungry, and writhing around on his stomach, chasing any friction he could get in Scott’s navy-blue sheets while simultaneously pushing back into Scott’s body.)

 

Scott, of course, being both a dutiful boyfriend and cheerful switch-hitter, was more than happy to take care of Reyes this way. Especially because he so rarely—relatively—got an opportunity. A romantic and surprisingly uninterrupted dinner in Scott’s quarters on the Tempest, during a pleasantly lengthy and uneventful stint in Kadara Port, had led to making out on Scott’s couch. Then humping in Scott’s bed. And Scott had finally got his legs wrapped around Reyes’s thighs, tight and possessive. Reyes was rocking against him with unusual gentility and teasing, staring down into Scott’s face—Scott’s lust-blown _eyes_ —with contrasting intensity and hunger.

 

“I want you inside me,” Scott had breathed, arching up into Reyes’s body in a way that was as demanding, yet submissive, as he could make it. Reyes had smirked, but his breath stuttered and hitched as his eyes fluttered briefly shut.

 

“That’s _my_ _line_ , Pathfinder,” he’d said, when his eyes met Scott’s once more. And though it’d taken Scott’s hormone-inundated brain a few moments to be on the same page, once he _was_ . . . well, things’d just gone from there.

 

Now, as he focused his entire being on Reyes’s body and Reyes’s pleasure, kissing his way down the taller man’s bare, gently-tapering back, worshiping muscle and vertebra with ravenous reverence, he placed his hands—which were rough in comparison to Reyes’s ridiculous-smooth skin—on Reyes’s ass. Palmed the cheeks firmly and kneaded while Reyes moaned sinfully, spreading his long, lean thighs. Scott smirked against the small of his lover’s back and pressed a lingering kiss on heated skin. As he inhaled, he caught a faint whiff of sweet-tart-fresh that instantly stopped him in his figurative tracks.

 

The pause to collect himself and dismiss the scent—surely entirely in his own mind . . . a random misfire or spill-over from SAM’s occasional memory-mining—was long enough that Reyes groaned and glanced over his shoulder to pant: “ _Scott_. . . .”

 

Shaking his head, bemused and amused, Scott smiled. “Sorry, uh . . . where was I?”

 

“Why, Pathfinder . . . if you have to _ask_ — _fuck_!” Reyes gasped, then grunted, then _groaned_ as Scott, without preamble, dove right in. Then Reyes was _laughing_ _breathlessly_ as Scott immediately blurted out against his asshole: “What the _hell_?!” after rasping his oh, so talented tongue across the twitching, pulsing pucker.

 

Then, convinced his own brain—or perhaps a SAM who was tired of being passively discreet in Scott’s sex-life, and had decided to do a bit of . . . button-pressing—was playing tricks on him, he licked Reyes’s ass again. Not that that was ever a chore.

 

“Hmmmmm. . . .” Reyes sighed out, soft and sensual, relaxing readily into Scott’s aggressive tasting. “You’re so _good_ at this, I should start calling _you shena_. . . .”

 

“ _Strawberries_ ,” Scott huffed after a final lick and lingering suck that left his boyfriend barely verbal and clutching at the sheets with desperation that was normally gratifying. But at _this_ moment . . . Scott was more than a little distracted.

 

“The angara don’t _have_ a word for strawberries, Ryder. Perhaps because they don’t have _strawberries_ ,” Reyes chuffed out on the back of a wicked laugh. “Though they _do_ have a berry that’s quite similar to boysenberries. In taste, that is. It _looks_ more like it came out the wrong end of a—”

 

“You taste. Like strawberries,” Scott interrupted Reyes’s effortlessly amusing monologue to say. The other man snorted and glanced back over his shoulder again.

 

“Don’t _you_ say the sweetest things, Scott!”

 

Making a half-exasperated, half-fond face, Scott bore himself up slightly on his arms, planting a promise of a kiss on Reyes’s right ass-cheek, before nuzzling his way up his boyfriend’s body. In short order, he was nibbling on Reyes’s earlobe and whispering in his ear: “ _How_ did you get your ass to taste like strawberries, Reyes?”

 

“If I was a more _sensitive_ sort, Ryder, I _might_ think you meant to imply that it doesn’t _always_!”

 

“ _Reyes_.” Scott punctuated his lover’s name with a light thrust of his completely undeterred hard-on just above Reyes’s ass. The other man swore and called Scott a _terrible tease_ , before laughing again. “Answer me, or I’ll finish myself off in the shower, and let you spend the rest of the night hard—” kiss “—aching—” nibble “—and _empty_ . . . _so_ , so empty. . . .”

 

The sound Reyes made was indescribable, and followed by an aggressive bucking-up against Scott. Which Scott quelled with his body and a negligible amount of N7 training.

 

“Answer me,” he murmured.

 

“ _Fuck_ me,” Reyes murmured right back. Scott snorted and very nearly gave Reyes what he was demanding.

 

“Even when I’m topping, you _have_ to be the boss,” he noted, as casual as khakis. Reyes grunted again.

 

“Is that a complaint?”

 

“Merely an observation,” Scott said easily, kissing down Reyes’s damp, warm face from temple to jaw. “Is _that_ what you want, tonight? To be the boss? For me to lay on my back and stay hard while you take what you want for as long as you want it?” Reyes’s breath caught and accelerated. “Wanna climb on top of me and fuck yourself on my cock till you’re stretched-out and aching and sore?”

 

“Ryder— _Scott_ —fuck,” Reyes gasped.

 

“‘Cause, if that’s what you want, Reyes, you can have it,” Scott promised in a rough, low voice, flicking his tongue out to taste the tears that rolled down the side of Reyes’s face. “ _You_ know how good I am at staying hard for you.”

 

“I—I _know_ ,” the smuggler gasped out on the back of a shaking laugh. “You’ve got _stamina_ , Pathfinder.”

 

“Yup.” Scott nuzzled Reyes’s clenched jaw, his earlobe, then his neck. “So, we can do it that way—where you’re the boss, as usual—or. . . .”

 

“Or?”

 

Smirking and nibbling his way to Reyes’s nape, Scott hummed, a hungry exhalation that probably had a lot to do with Reyes’s sudden shiver beneath him. “Or . . . I can find out how long-lasting that strawberry-flavor _is_ . . . and how deep it goes. And _then_. . . .”

 

There were times when even _Reyes_ couldn’t resist taking obvious bait. This was one of them. “And then?” he gritted out almost unwillingly. Scott chuckled.

 

“And then,” he went on with teasing and negligent ponderousness, “after I’ve gotten you all relaxed and open, I hold you down, and fuck you good and deep . . . till you come so hard they hear the roar in _Tartarus._ After which, of course, I’ll _keep on_ fucking you, till you beg me to stop making you come. Or until even _my_ stamina calls it a night. How’s that sound?”

 

Reyes’s reply wasn’t words, but a rumbling groan that vibrated throughout both their bodies.

 

Scott figured that was as good an answer as any.

 

“And for the record,” he said, kissing and nipping, licking and nuzzling his way down Reyes’s back, “you don’t have to bathe in strawberry lube for me to be _thrilled_ to eat you out.”

 

Reyes laughed, breathless and flustered. “Is that so?”

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

“Well.” He still sounded flustered. And flattered, now, too. “I’ll have to keep that in mind. That tongue of yours is a _marvelous_ instrument . . . _oooooh_ ,” Reyes’s statement turned into a wavering moan as Scott resumed his previous activity with a teasing tickle of tongue, flirting at the very edge of Reyes’s entrance. “ _Scooootttt_. . . .”

 

Scott’s reply was a hot, humid exhale and hum, before thrusting his tongue past the twitching, pink, strawberry-flavored pucker, which drew a wavering, desperate wail from Reyes. The first, but not the loudest or the last. Scott happily chased down that sweet, strawberry taste, lapping at Reyes and pressing his face closer and harder, for every centimeter his tongue could get.

 

The strawberry taste went _deep_. And it had staying-power.

 

And so, his extraordinary focus and determination brought to bear on his lover’s scent, taste, texture, and pleasure, Scott didn’t really notice the passing of time. Nor the way Reyes went from moaning, groaning desperation, to utterly nonverbal grunts and shudders.

 

It was only when that strawberry taste was more memory than fact, that he withdrew his tongue with one last, lingering slurp, sighed happily, and kitten-licked his way lower, to Reyes’s perineum.

 

“I love you,” he mouthed against the scant, sensitive strip of skin, with tiny flickers of his tongue. “I love _this_ , and I love _you_.”

 

“Mwhaah?” Reyes whimpered almost petulantly, his pelvis moving as he once more sought friction from the pillow Scott had crammed under his hips for elevation.

 

Reyes wanted to _come_ —was _mindless_ with the need to lose control.

 

Or have it taken.

 

Scott was more than happy to oblige. With a final sucking kiss that made Reyes let out a sob-like noise, Scott sat up, pushing his lover’s legs wider and meeting no resistance. He positioned himself over Reyes and between his spread thighs, almost flush against the other man’s sweat-sheened back.

 

With one hand bearing up his weight and the other guiding his cock steadily forward, Scott pressed against Reyes’s hole firmly, then more so, until the tip was past the relaxed ring of muscle. Reyes, his face buried in another one of Scott’s many pillows, made a muffled gasp, which turned into a sustained whimper as Scott drove into him with relentless determination and without further ado.

 

Once Scott was certain he was in far enough not to slip out because of Reyes’s tremoring and shaking, he let go of his cock and placed his hand on Reyes’s shoulder, stroking across to the spot directly between the blades. Then he slid his hand up, until it was carding Reyes’s now-messy undercut. He leaned down to tenderly kiss the spot his hand had just left even as he let that hand clench with testing, warning possessiveness in his lover’s thick, dark hair.

 

“Ready?” he murmured into Reyes’s damp, salty skin.

 

“Ry—AAAAAH!” Reyes’s yell echoed off the walls of Scott’s quarters, as Scott drove his hips forward and his cock—which, though average in length, was fairly girthy . . . something that Reyes seemed to enjoy _greatly_ —home with a sharp, hard thrust.

 

Tightening the clench of his hand in Reyes’s hair, Scott tugged just enough that Reyes, even in his half-moaning, half-sobbing state, got the message and did his best to lever himself up out of the pillows. Scott lowered his body onto Reyes’s—Reyes was taller, true, but leaner in muscle-mass and built gracefully . . . Scott was all dense, brutal, brawler’s muscle and conditioning—and set up a steady, steadily accelerating rhythm of terse, snapping, machine-like thrusts: hard, efficient, and powerful. And, at the same time as his body relentlessly and thoroughly took Reyes’s, driving keens and winded grunts from the other man, he pressed gentle, reverent kisses to any and every part of Reyes’s face and neck he could reach.

 

“Love you . . . you hear me? I love you,” he murmured, his hand in Reyes’s hair tightening to the point it caused Reyes to cry out in surprised pain. Pain which, as always, he leaned into like a pro, pushing back against Scott and meeting his thrusts with taunting challenge and no fear.

 

“You’re _perfect_ ,” Scott told him in a harsh whisper, sprawling a bit on his forearm instead of just his hand and, with the more stable leverage, fucking Reyes harder and deeper and faster. The whisper was barely audible over the sounds of flesh impacting flesh, and Reyes’s myriad vocalizations. But from the way Reyes stiffened and whimpered, Scott was pretty sure that the whisper was nonetheless heard.

 

“ _Scooooo_ —” Reyes moaned, then when Scott changed up his angle slightly, actually _squeaked_.

 

“Right there?” Scott asked unnecessarily. Reyes’s reply was another tiny, desperate sound. “Okay, then!”

 

Scott cheerfully fucked Reyes even harder, pressing the other man’s body into the mattress and his face into the pillow—but not so much that Reyes, being used to and desirous of such treatment, wouldn’t be able to breathe.

 

And Reyes _was_ , in fact _, used to and desirous_ of such treatment. Maybe not always . . . but often enough. Often enough that Scott knew _exactly_ what Reyes wanted, what he _needed_ , and what he could _take_.

 

He could— _would_ —take a _lot_.

 

And that’s what Scott strove to give him, plus a little extra just to hear those sweet moans and whimpers as Reyes let himself be unmade.

 

He felt it when Reyes came the first time, groaning and fighting the orgasm every step of the way, until he finally _lost it_ . . . lost his control and maybe even his mind, as he yelled loud, long, and hoarse. His muscles clamped down on Scott’s cock like a vise, and Reyes’s entire body shook— _convulsed_ , really.

 

Scott swore—from awe rather than indignation—biting his lip and finding his center as he rode out the powerful orgasm and its aftershocks, rocking his body harder into Reyes’s, hitting his spot hard and fast, going for deeper and more, even past the point where that was possible. Under him, Reyes writhed and gasped and panted, shivering and mumbling and shaking his head in negation. A shaky whine built in his throat as he fought his way out of the pillow a bit: _Nnnnnn_ —

 

Smiling tenderly, Scott nuzzled Reyes’s cheek, then kissed it. “ _Yes_ ,” he insisted gently, but with no give and no cessation of his hips’ merciless pistoning. He pushed Reyes’s face back into the pillow and brought his weight to bear on the other man’s limp, sweat-slippery body. Pinned him down and _kept_ him there without too much exertion.

 

Reyes was fighting simply to _fight_ . . . not to win.

 

Scott redoubled his efforts, ignoring his own grunts and swearing, affectionate filth and easy blasphemy, alike. It wasn’t long before Reyes was making small, mewling sounds that were as much pain as pleasure, his over-sensitized body trembling on the cusp of orgasm once more. And, once more, the smuggler fought it—fought the pleasure being wrung from his tired body, and force-fucked out of it—fought _Scott_.

 

Fought. Lost.

 

Reyes came again, not with a roar or a yell, but with a sobbing cry from high in his throat. The throat to which Scott’s hand had migrated, from Reyes’s sweaty, messy hair. Scott’s hand was large enough that he could wrap it a good way around Reyes’s throat while still applying the kind of pressure that Reyes would feel even in an orgasmic haze. Feel and fight and eventually come screaming from, yet again.

 

“Please. . . .” Reyes croaked out between sobs that were as raw and unpretty as any Scott had ever heard. He was even sniffling and hitching, as far from his usual ironic sophistication as he’d ever been. “P- _please_ . . . _don’t_. . . too much. . . .”

 

“Mm . . . sorry, Reyes. Tonight, I’m not taking requests,” Scott whispered, soft and soothing. “Only surrender. And I think you’ve got at least a _little_ more to give me, butch . . . isn’t that right?”

 

Another hitching sob. “ _Nnnnnnn_ —”

 

“Yeah, you do.” Scott tightened his grip on Reyes’s throat, just enough to discourage anything that wasn’t very measured breathing. Then he changed the tenor of his thrusts—sacrificed rhythm for speed, precision for power. His cock was so hard it was kind of painful, between fighting his own need to come and the unmatched pleasure of continuing to take Reyes like this . . . just like this. . . .

 

He was meeting no resistance whatsoever from Reyes’s body, automatic, or otherwise. Reyes was _his_. Body and soul, inside and out. For this moment in time, Scott was the wellspring of Reyes’s pleasure and pain, joy and despair.

 

It was as close to godhood as Scott ever wanted to be.

 

His own control over his desires tenuous, at best, Scott struggled them both into sitting position one-handed, refusing to relinquish his grasp of Reyes’s throat. Once they were upright, the smuggler groaned weakly as he sank down onto Scott’s lap . . . and further onto his cock. The hand that Scott had used for bearing up and balance, immediately dropped to Reyes’s hot, come-tacky cock, squeezing it once, and a good deal harder than most men might have liked. But then, Reyes Vidal was _not_ most men.

 

The squeezing became stroking, slow and tight, with Scott swiping his thumb across the tip of Reyes’s cock, smearing precome as it droozled from the slit. He shifted and bucked up into Reyes’s body—no mean feat, lifting his own body and the body of another grown man right on top of it—his thighs pushing Reyes’s wider. Scott was well beyond the kind of concentration it’d take for direct prostate stimulation. But he knew he didn’t need to be that precise, anymore. When Reyes wanted to be fucked, hitting his spot was, of course, _nice_ , but not the be-all/end-all.

 

The point was, for Reyes, being _taken_. He got off on that in ways that mere prostate stimulation couldn’t rival. He liked the loss of control and the fact that he could trust _Scott_ to take the reins, even if just for a night. Or part of one, as the case may have been.

 

“You’re doing so good for me, Reyes . . . _so_ good. So . . . _fucking_ . . . _unh_!” Scott grunted in Reyes’s ear before biting down on the very edge of it and laving the bite. Reyes made a garbled, gasping noise, then began to keen in a broken, helpless scream. Began to _come_ , for the third time, dribbling hot and—this late in the game—thin down Scott’s still-stroking hand.

 

“Yeah, baby . . . just like this,” Scott murmured, his hand around Reyes's throat tightening perhaps a _bit_ too much as he, himself, rather unexpectedly, lost it. Reyes’s scream cut off—became a choked, wailing wheeze—as Scott’s instinctive, possessive grip put more pressure on his windpipe. Then Scott's body stiffened, automatically thrust up into Reyes’s a few more times, hard, uncoordinated, and deep, before coming like a supernova . . . all brightheatflashnowdying. . . .

 

And then, an eternity of eternities later, it was over.

 

But for the aftershocks, which . . . as ever, were almost as devastating as the main event.

 

Finally, Scott collapsed to the bed on top of Reyes, who was moaning and coughing, shivering and shaking. Scott’s hand, cramping a little from his recent clenching and grasping, fell away from Reyes’s throat, to settle on the smuggler’s bicep. He kissed Reyes’s shoulder and licked a trail up to his nape.

 

“I love you,” Scott huffed breathlessly, into near-silence leavened only by Reyes’s sporadic hitches and soft, sated sobs. Under him, Reyes shuddered and shifted . . . then relaxed suddenly, and in a way that Scott would’ve once never imagined him capable. “You . . . good?”

 

Reyes drew in a slightly deeper, longer breath and started to speak—cleared a throat that obviously pained him—then tried again.

 

“I’m . . . good,” he husked out, barely more than a harsh whisper. His throat would be days healing, Scott knew, relaxing, himself. And in the meantime, every time Reyes spoke, or attempted to for the next while, he’d end up flushing, and absently, fondly stroking the livid bruises on his throat. And Scott, if he was lucky enough to see his lover do so, would smile. “ _Thank_ _you_.”

 

“Anytime.” Scott buried his face in Reyes’s sweaty, messy hair. “It was my pleasure. Always is.”

 

“Hmmm,” Reyes rumbled sleepily, which was Scott’s cue to carefully, without disengaging himself, roll them onto their sides. As ever, after being so thoroughly unmade and undone, Reyes went easily, without resistance, letting Scott arrange their limbs, and spoon tight and close behind him. Reyes normally wasn’t much for cuddling, but nights like these . . . were the exceptions that proved the rule. And if, by chance, there was any place where their aligned bodies didn’t touch, Reyes’s languid shifting and determined wriggling solved that problem, until their flushed, damp skins tingled and grew fever-hot from the contact.

 

By morning, Reyes would be curled up on his own side of the bed, and Scott sprawled on _his_ , but for now . . . for now. . . .

 

Scott kissed Reyes behind his ear and brush-stroked Reyes’s taut, sticky-damp abdomen with feather-light fingertips that eventually slowed to a near, then total stop.

 

The last thing Scott knew before consciousness went sideways was Reyes’s fingers linking tight with his own and pulling them up to settle over his heart.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you MurderousLady and Ghostofshe for the prompts! Thank you stitchcasual, Cavaticarose, and Hotot for the cheering!
> 
> Say HI on [TUMBLR](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com)!


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